Change of Pace
by Rockbird
Summary: The pain continued to intensify. She knew at that point that no amount of willpower or denial would make it go away, resolve the situation. The figurative boa constrictor grew tighter, and she almost wondered why the pressure wasn’t cracking her ribs.
1. Awake, Ye Dreamer

Disclaimers: I don't own ER, Kerry Weaver, Henry, or any other characters there of. etc… I don't own Vioxx or Merck, and take no stand on the current bit going on with them, just see them as a potential plot device.

Author's notes: Not trying to piss people off with this... Anyhow... Enjoy.

* * *

"In other news, Merck, the international pharmaceutical company," Kerry tuned in, she'd probably already read whatever it was somewhere, and could probably get more complete information on this great, urgent news story within a week in one journal or another, but it was medical, "has made a decision to pull it's popular Cox-2 inhibitor, Vioxx, which has been used to treat arthritis..." 

Kerry glanced over at the medicine cabinet, then returned her attention to the news, her book now forgotten.

"... as new studies suggest it may double the risk of heart attack and stroke in patients taking the drug for over eighteen months."

Peachy. Absofuckinglutely peachy. How long ago had her orthopedist talked her into it... two and a half years sounded about right, or was it more like three? Easier on the stomach than ibuprofen, possibly a way to avoid any new ulcers. She was reasonably healthy though, watched what she put into her system with the exception of an occasional glass of Scotch, swam every other day. She'd be fine, besides, new studies were always disproving one another. It was how knowledge of science was amassed, some sort of a greater good. Hadn't she told Carter something similar not long ago? Okay, maybe screamed, but that was beside the point. It'd blow over. Still, something made her slightly uneasy about being a human guinea pig.

Now, it was just paranoia, people still drank things with saccharin, most didn't get cancer, ate fubu without being poisoned (though that was more a matter of the skill of the chef than luck or the tendency of the media to sensationalize), swam in the sea without their skin turning colors and sloughing off, nuclear power hadn't caused everyone to sprout third arms (though there were times when a third arm seemed useful. Wishful thinking, it didn't quite work that way anyhow). Causing problems in a lab rat or frog didn't guarantee the same problems would materialize in humans. But they might. Probably wouldn't. But might.

She flipped off the news and switched on her stereo. In a moment, the sound of the Patti Smith group filled the room. Breakfast... Smoothie. Banana, apple juice, blueberries, tomato, yogurt, soy protein powder, et voila, a reasonably potable breakfast beverage.

After a wonderfully long, hot shower (one of the perks of waking early, there was time for such luxuries) and a few moments in the dressing room (green button down shirt, black suit) followed by a few more in front of a mirror coaxing uncooperative hair into a pull through and applying a touch of makeup, it was time to wake Henry. She checked her watch, seven, which gave her half an hour to drop Henry with his grandmother and another twenty minutes to fight traffic to the hospital before another budget meeting. One of these days, she'd have to get through to cardiology that their own CT scanner just wasn't feasible.

"Hey sweetie." she said quietly as she turned on the lights and scooped her son up into her arms, he gurgled sleepily.

_"Awake, awake ye dreamer, the coo coo loudly calls. The sun shines in the meadow and falls on garden walls..."_

Stupid little ditty, but whatever made the kid happy. She tried to imagine the looks on her coworkers' faces if they saw her doing monkey tricks to entertain her son. Couldn't quite picture it. Oh well.

"Let's get you a bath and some food, sound good kiddo?" she whispered, Henry chirped in response. She mentally started running through the contents of his dresser while she ran water for his bath, what wasn't stained, too small (He was growing like a weed), or waiting to be run through the wash?

* * *

Review please. 


	2. Cyrogenic Freezing and Expatriation

Disclaimers: I don't own ER, Kerry Weaver, Henry, or any other characters there of. etc… I don't own Vioxx or Merck, and take no stand on the current bit going on with them, just see them as a potential plot device.

* * *

Ten minutes ago, she'd left Henry with his grandparents at their house, which meant he wasn't in the car. Therefore, she was free to curse in several languages, profane the name of the Lord a few dozen colorful ways, and generally enjoy a few free moments of road rage in the car on the way to work. Some idiot had decided to drive on the L tracks (though how he'd-and yes she was sure it was a he, only testosterone and drugs inspire such feats- gotten the car up there was a mystery), and had come tumbling down onto a moving van, which had careened into a dump truck. In other words, though there were, somehow no casualties, the streets were a mess. More than a mess actually. According to the radio, it'd be a good long while before the road was passable again. Ah, gridlock. Gridlock and very strong coffee, what a way to start a Chicago day. Of course it did mean she'd be late for her meeting. 

She pressed a button and changed the station, preset number four, mostly music from the late seventies and early to mid eighties. She wasn't in the mood for Pat Benatar's La Belle Age, so tried the next, number four was politics, rednecks and liberals screaming at each other, she was in no mood. When the classical station yielded possibly her least favorite piece, Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons', she gave up on radio and switched to a CD. Johnny Cash, 'The Man Comes Around.' Dying cowboys didn't suit her mood either, so she gave up. Silence, or at least the absence of music, could occasionally be good. She was left alone with her thoughts.

Eventually, Kerry did reach the hospital, though her meeting had already ended, leaving her with a choice- a few minutes in the ER, or catching up on paperwork. The former sounded infinitely more appealing, but it also meant she'd be doing the paperwork at home, a less than pleasant prospect.

She seriously considered flipping a coin, but decided to follow her nose. ER it was, and a fresh trauma rolling in. Susan and Pratt had it, but said there were several minors on the way, small MVA. A side trip to her locker produced a lab coat and stethoscope, she was at the back door when the first of the minors rolled up, just a few lacerations, Kerry handed it off to a med student.

The next was supposed to be a dislocated shoulder, but the patient's stats quickly revealed a more severe problem. A few quick tests to confirm her diagnosis, and the occult splenic bleed was on his way up to the OR. Her watch went off, meeting with security. Delightful, she strongly preferred to remain in the Emergency Department, but duty called.

Their dilemma was reasonably simple- at least fifteen new security guards needed to be hired to cover a small expansion to the pediatric wing, but the budget said that at least twelve currently employed security guards had to be dismissed. The solution turned out to be anything but. An hour later, all parties involved decided to part ways and meet again in three days. A complete waste of time. Finally, Kerry thought to herself, it wasn't over, but it was a temporary reprieve, so all she had to do was create a few hundred thousand dollars out of thin air, and everything would be just peachy. A trip to the cafeteria for coffee was in order.

"Kerry, how'd the meeting go?" Susan appeared out of nowhere, apparently there for the same reason. The coffee in the cafeteria didn't constitute a decent caffeine fix, but it was a step above the sludge in the lounge.

She shook her head, "Honestly, a complete waste of everyone's time," Susan, she judged, had at least some understanding of administrative matters, would understand that much.

That got a slight laugh, much to Kerry's surprise; she hadn't been trying for humor, "Aren't they all."

"Not really optional though."

"Yeah, forget death and taxes, there's cryogenic freezing and expatriation," it seemed that some of Susan's resentment over the tenure issue had dissipated with Carter's departure. They both laughed. Not exactly friends, but not quite enemies either.

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Review please. 


	3. Food Poisoning From an Orange

Disclaimers: I don't own ER, or any characters thereof. I don't own Vioxx or Merck, and take no stand on the current bit going on with them, just see them as a potential plot device. Any characters I create for this story are mine though.

They chatted a bit more, but soon both pagers were going off, and Susan and Kerry had to abandon the coffee and depart, one to bail out a couple of med students that'd gotten in over their heads, the other to diffuse tensions between a few disgruntled oncology residents and the department head before anyone decided to take a swing at anyone else, which seemed to happen more there than in any other part of the hospital, though never in front of the patients. (Staff of that department dealt with more death than any one should, and were generally a bit too tightly wound for it.)

She arrived just in time to see the first punch land, but as soon as the would be combatants caught sight of her, they pretended it was an accident. It was almost funny. Almost, but not quite. And then, when they tried to pretend that nothing happened, it was mildly insulting, like they thought she was deaf, dumb (and not in the mute sense), and blind. She had nothing against individuals with hearing, visual, or vocal problems, but she knew what she had seen and what she had heard, and didn't appreciate their attempts to persuade her to believe them instead of her own senses. Kerry chewed them up, spat them out, and left them in the dust. She had better ways to waste her time. Like the mountain of paperwork on her desk that she'd chosen to neglect in favor of a few minutes in the ER. One of the perks of her job that offset the many downsides, she could choose what to focus on, medicine or administration, as long as the paperwork got done and the meetings were attended.

Of course, there were times when she could send an aide to the meeting. Or secretly do paperwork on an unrelated matter while in it. Or cancel it if there was no actual point. Not that she did any of those all that often, but there were times when it was appropriate.

After an hour of playing with budgets and salaries on a spreadsheet program, Kerry had officially beaten the security hiring problem into the ground. Christ, she wished somehow it could be someone else's problem. But she could have turned down the job, and she didn't, and now having gotten what she wanted for so long, she couldn't. Well, not if she planned on having any sort of career or maintaining her self respect. She minimized that file and went to her e-mail.

The business of finding a new ER attending wasn't all that pleasant. Most of the applicants were either terrifyingly underqualified (Kerry prayed that a few of them never wound up finding attending positions, as it would be a death warrant for any challenging or critical patients they might face), or overqualified, but with no idea how a real ER worked, educated and trained, but coddled so that they would likely crumble or panic in a moment of stress. Had the prospects been that bad last time she'd had to find an attending? Probably, and she'd almost definitely blocked out the memory for just that reason. If she thought about how poor most of the candidates were, she'd dread the process even more.

When the two hundred and thirty seven e-mails in her inbox (how had that many built up? Wasn't her secretary supposed to weed out most of the junk? Oh wait, she'd fired him for deleting important ones as well…) had been reduced to only fifty one of at least marginal importance, Kerry looked up at the clock. It was approaching three, which meant the early lunch she had been planning on sneaking out for would be either a very late lunch or a very early dinner. She considered putting off food altogether until she got home at the end of the day, but her stomach argued against such action, so she snuck down to the cafeteria and got some fruit and an iced tea. Not a real meal, but it'd tide her over for a bit.

"Twice in one day, Kerry? Shouldn't you know to avoid the caf by now?" Susan snuck up behind her.

She shrugged, "You're here too. Besides, it's nearly impossible to get food poisoning from an orange."

"ER is heating up, think you can spare a few minutes?"

Any excuse not to do paperwork, "I suppose, as soon as I finish this," she popped a section of the orange into her mouth.


	4. Any Other Complaints

Disclaimers: I don't own ER, Kerry Weaver, Henry, or any other characters there of. Etc… I don't own Vioxx or Merck, and take no stand on the current bit going on with them, just see them as a potential plot device.

* * *

Susan hadn't been kidding about the ER heating up. They were flooded with patients to a degree that Kerry felt guilt over finishing her orange, and the climate control system had ceased to function, again. It was at least eighty degrees, but probably closer to eighty five, there was barely room to breathe, and the combination of the two meant that tempers were on fire as well.

"Dr. Weaver," great, she knew that voice, Morris. At least Ross had been vaguely competent, and Malucci had cared about his patients, but Archie Morris lacked either of those qualities. If only Pratt had taken the job as chief resident, "what are you doing here?"

"Saving your ass from the looks of things," Neela said as Weaver took several unclaimed charts from the rack. They might actually clear the board for the first time since Morris had started managing it.

"Hey," he grunted indignantly.

"Now, now children!" Pratt chided them sarcastically.

"Shouldn't you three be trying to make a dent in the patient load? Before the patients overflow into the ambulance bay would be nice," she left them there to go deal with Mr. _Dropped My Goldfish Down the Garbage Disposal While I Was Emptying Its Bowl and Stuck My Arm Down There to Fish (pardon the pun) It Out and Cut My Finger On One of the Blades While My Hand Was Down There, By the Way, My Nephew Was Devastated That the Fish Died Anyhow_ Williams. Also soon to be known as Mr. _Held the Firework in My Hand On the Fourth of July_ Williams, but she didn't know that yet, and would not be on shift that day to see it.

"Hi Mr. Williams, I'm Dr. Weaver, I understand you hurt your hand? Do you have any other complaints?"

"No."

"Okay. I'm just going to look you over quickly to be sure," no matter how foolish the patient, make sure they think they know you give a damn, "alright?"

"Fine," blood pressure, heart rate. Everything within a normal range.

"Everything sounds good. May I see your hand now please?" he extended it, she snapped on rubber gloves and examined it. Didn't even need sutures. She gave him a Band-Aid, told him to keep it clean. No wound check necessary.

The next patient came in on a gurney and clearly wasn't going to make it. A couple went skydiving for their 65th wedding anniversary. The eighty three year old wife fainted just after they jumped out of the plane, before she could activate her parachute. Her heart gave out just as they got her into the trauma. Husband said not to bother. Time of death. I'm very sorry Mr. Donaldson, and on to the next patient.

Janice _What Happens if I Shove Dried Fava Beans Up My Nose_ Worterbuch was polite enough, though her father was a real pain in the ass, directing the anger he felt toward his daughter for her silly little stunt at the medical staff. It was all she could do not to hit Mr. _Took Viagra But My Wife Had a Headache, Are You SURE I'm Not Going To Die?_ Bullman in _that_ head with her crutch when he grabbed her ass on his way out. Yes, the ER was busy, and the population of Chicago was doing its best to drive her insane.

"Dr. Weaver, we've got a stabbing pulling up."

Mad dash for the ambulance bay. Paramedics, "What's the bullet," absorb. Information. Patient, "You're at County General. I'm Dr. Weaver..." Mad dash for the trauma room. What was up with the… Couldn't get a good breath. Odd. Not good. Ignore. Back to work. Ouch. Focus. Patient. Call the blood bank. Call the OR.

"Are you alright, Dr. Weaver?" Abby asked across the trauma table, noticing the chief of staff seemed a bit pale, almost (and very uncharacteristically) shaky, and somewhat diaphoretic.

Kerry ignored the question, too busy with the patient not to be fine. "Chuny, where's the O neg?" the patient, a thirty-something blonde, desperately needed the blood, at least four units, to replace what was lost at the scene of the accident.

"Blood bank's taking their time."

"Well tell them to hurry the hell up, patient hasn't got all day," Kerry snapped at the nurse, "we'll have to auto transfuse for now," there wasn't much blood in the thoraseal, but it was more than nothing, which is what it seemed like they were getting from the blood bank. The pain in Kerry's chest intensified and shot through her arm and up to her jaw. "Get Lewis or Kovac. I…" she stripped off her gloves, grabbed her crutch and left the trauma room.

That was weird. Beyond weird. Both the intern and the nurse noticed that Weaver seemed off and had presumed that she was coming down with the flu, or had eaten something that disagreed with her stomach. Neither knew she was battling to stay upright, that a backache had evolved into shooting pains through her arm and up to her jaw, and it felt like a snake was starting to constrict her chest if either did though, they'd have had her on a gurney. "What the hell was that?"

"Maybe lunch decided to come back up?"

"Yeah, maybe."

* * *

Kerry didn't bother to turn on the lights as she stumbled the lunge, just quietly, carefully walked over to the couch and lowered herself onto it. She swung her legs up onto it and shifted into a half reclined position with her shoulders and neck against the arm rest, leaned her head back a bit, and focused on ignoring the boa constrictor tightening itself around her chest, and the pain in her back, and her arm, and that periodically shot up into her neck and jaw.

_Just breathe_ she ordered herself. She closed her eyes and tried to think of anyplace better than where she was and anything more pleasant than the pain she was feeling. The clinical, logical part of her that should have been screaming at her to get up and get out of the lounge and _discreetly _have someone, preferably Kovac or Susan, check her over and maybe run a strip on the EKG had been gagged and restrained by the stubborn career woman who was 'going to finish her shift if it killed her, damn it,' (which the clinician managed to mumble around the gag, it just might), the patients' advocate who had to do something to atone for needing to step out of a trauma, the single mother who didn't have time not to not be okay because there was Henry to take care of, and the boss from hell who had to set an example.

The pain continued to intensify. She knew at that point that no amount of willpower or denial would make it go away, resolve the situation. She thought about getting up, getting help, but the effort required was too great. The figurative boa constrictor grew tighter, and she almost wondered why the pressure wasn't cracking her ribs.

"Dr. Weaver?" she hadn't noticed Abby enter the lounge.

She tried to force on a professional mask out of habit, fully aware of how ridiculous it was to do so just then. "Did the patient make it?"

"Dubenko's got her," Abby paused, "Dr. Weaver… Kerry, should you be on right now?"

"Susan still here?"

"Fighting with Kayson."

"Patient's a forty two year old female, radiating chest pains, diaphoretic, shortness of breath, what's the differential?"

"Depends," why was Weaver quizzing her? Playing games almost, "Sounds like it could be a myocardial infarction though. With the right history."

"Thought so," shitshitshitshitshitshitshitholyfuckshit…

A friend of Kerry's boa constrictor (or was it a python), one with arms and hands, broke a branch off of a nearby tree and hit Abby in the head with it. Oh my. Actually, oh my didn't cover it. Didn't even scratch the surface. Certain strings of profanity might. Only might.

"Are you um-"

"Just get Susan, please."


	5. MI in Trauma Two

Author's notes- Sorry this has taken me so long. I had it handwritten, and lost the notebook it was in, so had to redo it from memory... I think this scene used to be longer...

Disclaimers-ER isn't mine, none of the characters from it are either.

Feedback/reviews- Please. Much appreciated, only way I can improve, etc.

* * *

"Hang on a minute," she cut off Dr. Kayson mid sentance and looked down at her pager. Stat page to the ER. The story of her flipping life, "I need to deal with this, I'll get back to you later," she didn't wait for his responce, but started jogging for the elevator. Her pager went off again as she waited for the lift to reach the floor, so she changed her mind and opted for the stairs. "What's the problem, Frank?" she asked as she reached the admit desk.

"MI in trauma two."

"And no one else could get it?"

"Lockhart's in there... Weaver-" he started to explain, but she went off.

"Lockhart's compitent, and Weaver's the chief of staff, you don't think they can handle it?" she grumbled and stormed down the hall to the trauma room.

"Someone stat paged me about an MI?" Susan asked Chuny as she entered the trauma room and snapped on a set of gloves, then looked over at Abby, "You couldn't handle it? Where the hell's Weaver? Frank said she was in here..."

"Weaver is the MI," Chuny replied curtly. Susan looked down at the patient on the gurney. Small and pale, attatched to an EKG, pulse oximiter, the oxygen mask, two IV lines. It was a hard image to reconcile with the version of Weaver that she was used to. Was Kerry even concious?

"When did this happen?" she asked quickly, looking at the moniter.

"She was a little off in a trauma half an hour ago, had to step out, Abby just found her in the lounge," Chuny explained, drawing some blood.

"Unconcious?"

Abby ignored the question, but put a hand on Kerry's shoulder, "Dr. Weaver. Kerry, you still with us?"

Kerry's eyes opened slowly, and her hand went for the oxygen mask but Susan grabbed her wrist, and lowered her arm back to her side, "Kerry, you need to leave that on," Susan said and glanced again at Kerry's stats. "How much O2 have you got her on?"

"100 percent."

"And her pulse ox is only 90? Page the on-call cardiologist."

"I will. I thought I should page you first."

"What have you ordered so far?"

"Aspirin and I was thinking maybe thrombolitics."

"No," Kerry whispered.

"Kerry, it looks like it might be nessicary," Abby stated plainly.

"No thrombolitics. Try heparin," she said with a bit more force.

"We could see what cardiology has to say," Abby suggested.

"Not with that ST elevation," Susan said definitively, "There's no time. Push the thrombolitics. She's on morphine and nitro?"

"Yeah," Chuny said, "Gotta get these to the lab," she took the vials of blood and hurried off while Haleh stepped in.

"Dr. Weaver, is there anyone we can call?"


End file.
